Unnamed Arrangement
The cliffs breathed wind and thunder.
Xander’s home, if you could call it that, clung to the jagged edge of the mountain like a secret whispered too close to the void. It wasn’t a house, not really. It was a fortress carved from stormclouds and shadow, half stone, half silence. The kind of place that kept people out… or trapped things in.
By noon, Aria had moved in.
If “moved in” meant tucking a single duffel bag beside a dresser that didn’t even creak, and setting her toothbrush gently beside his in a glass that looked more like museum glassware than anything meant to hold two lives.
Xander hadn’t helped her unpack.
Hadn’t offered a tour or even a hint of small talk.
Just handed her a key, cool and heavy, its metal edges biting into her palm, and disappeared behind a silence sharp enough to leave cuts.
The living room stretched wide and quiet, panelled in black cedar that gleamed like obsidian under the gray hush of storm-filtered light. One wall was nothing but a window, tall and indifferent, revealing the steep valley below where fog clung to the pines like breath. Thunder curled somewhere behind the mountains, not close, not far. Waiting.
She stood at the glass, arms crossed tight, not for warmth but to stop the slow unraveling inside her chest.
He had kissed her once. Looked at her like she was a revelation. Touched her like she mattered.
And now?
Now they were shadows pacing the same walls.
That night, they shared the same bed. Technically.
The mattress could have fit four. Alphas always had everything larger, rooms, responsibilities, and burdens.
But when she slipped under the covers, careful not to let the sheets rustle too much, Xander was already there.
Facing the wall. One arm behind his head, the other curled loosely against his ribs. His breathing was even. Practiced.
He didn’t look at her.
Didn’t speak.
Not even a nod.
Not even goodnight.
Aria lay still, her body tucked to the edge of the bed as if her presence could unmake the space. Her heart beat hollow and bruised against her ribs, each thud echoing louder in the absence of words.
No explanation.
No comfort.
No I’m glad you stayed.
Only the storm outside, clawing at the glass, and the wind screaming like something had been forgotten too long.
The kitchen gleamed like something in a magazine. Cold light spilled across stone counters and stainless steel that didn’t bear a single fingerprint. It felt untouched. Like a place set aside for someone else.
Aria moved through it like an intruder.
She hesitated at the espresso machine, her hand hovering. The buttons looked expensive. Foreign. Like they knew she didn’t belong.
She chose water instead.
It was safer to be invisible. Safer to leave no trace.
The glass was half-empty in her hand when Xander padded in, shirtless, joggers slung low, hair damp with sweat. He looked carved from effort and silence, his chest still rising from the run he must’ve taken before the sun bothered to rise.
He didn’t speak.
Just opened the fridge, grabbed a protein shake, and downed it in three long swallows.
Aria looked away.
“You’re up early,” she offered, her voice too thin to stand on its own.
“I always am.”
Then nothing.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It was worse.
It was practiced.
She nodded like that made sense and turned toward the window before he could see the way her throat worked too hard to swallow.
The library was hidden.
Of course it was. Xander’s house had corners like secrets, and this one lay behind a narrow wooden door tucked between two cold stone columns. She hadn’t meant to find it.
But the house gave her nothing else to do.
Inside, warm amber light flickered over endless shelves. Books lined every inch, tomes with cracked spines, others wrapped in cloth, a few titled in strange, looping runes she couldn’t read. The fireplace was lit, though she hadn’t seen anyone strike a match.
Still, the air was thick with waiting.
She didn’t sit.
Didn’t touch anything.
Just stood in the doorway, staring at all the knowledge someone had bothered to keep.
Footsteps passed behind her, Xander, on his way to the office. He didn’t stop. Didn’t speak.
But he slowed.
Just for a second.
A flicker of hesitation, the kind only someone watching closely would ever notice.
And then he was gone again.
She was seventeen the first time she realized he wouldn’t see her.
Not really.
The training field had buzzed with celebration, Xander, golden with sweat, laughing with the other trainees after a brutal match. His shoulder was bandaged where a blade had kissed him too close. His smile burned too bright.
She was kneeling on the sideline, wrapping another fighter’s ankle. Blood on her palms. Dirt in her braid.
He passed her without a glance.
But their shoulders had brushed.
And she had felt it for days.
Now they shared a bed.
And she couldn’t feel anything at all.
The storm rolled in with the hunger of something half-forgotten.
Rain battered the windows in furious bursts, the thunder curling through the walls like it was looking for somewhere to live. Aria curled on the edge of the couch, blanket wrapped tight, watching the flickering blue of the television screen. She wasn’t watching it.
Not really.
Xander stood by the far window, glass in hand, phone in the other. Whiskey. Tradition. Or maybe it was just something to keep his hands busy.
He wasn’t watching her either.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice barely breached the storm.
“You haven’t told me why.”
He didn’t move.
“Why what?” he asked, as if the answer hadn’t already been haunting them both.
“Why did you asked me to stay?”
The silence thickened. The fire behind the grate let out a low hiss.
“Because it felt right.”
Her throat tightened.
“That’s not an answer.”
He turned at last. His eyes were darker than the stormclouds behind him.
“I don’t have the right answer,” he said. “And I didn’t ask for questions.”
It landed like a door slamming shut.
She stood. “Then what do you want from me?”
He stared at her. Not cold. Not warm. Just... searching.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I don’t want you gone.”
And somehow, that shattered her more than if he’d said nothing at all.
She nodded once. Her jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
Then she turned, quietly, and walked away.
The bedroom was darker than usual.
No lightning now. Just thunder, distant and pulsing.
Xander was already in bed. Facing away. Again.
Aria slid in next to him. Her side is cold. Her heart louder than anything else in the room.
She stared at his back.
Wondered what it would take to make him turn around.
She didn’t remember falling asleep.
But sometime in the middle of the night, when the storm had dulled to whispers, something warm brushed her fingers.
She didn’t open her eyes.
Didn’t pull away.
Her hand stayed where it was.
So did his.
The clouds broke.
Sunlight filtered pale and uncertain through the window, brushing the edge of the bed in gold. Aria blinked slowly, breath soft in the morning hush.
Xander was gone.
Again.
No note. No sound of movement. Just the distant call of runoff carving through stone outside.
She pulled herself up, joints aching from tension that hadn’t left all night.
There was a blanket folded on her side of the couch.
He’d been there.
But not long enough.
She padded barefoot to the window, staring out across the valley. Everything gleamed. Wet and new. The storm had passed.
But inside her, something hadn’t.
Not yet.
Far below, the trail to the healer’s wing twisted like a scar down the mountain’s side. Aria stared at it, heart knotted. For just a moment, she wondered if it would’ve been easier to stay invisible.
Because at least back there... she hadn’t expected to be seen.
And here, here, in this house full of ghosts and thunder, even the wind had stopped whispering her name.
